


The Scenic Route

by aban_asaara



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aban_asaara/pseuds/aban_asaara
Summary: One beer and a swig from the bottle of vodka Isabela snuck inside, and Merrill is clinging to his arm, singing the wrong lyrics to the wrong notes. “I love Marybard and the Dens,” she giggles, her sundress stained with grass, the flowers woven into her hair now hanging limp.





	The Scenic Route

**Author's Note:**

> Month of Fanfiction - Day 2 - Rare Pair. Content warnings for implied self-harm.

It’s not exactly how Carver would have  _preferred_  to find himself with his head between Merrill’s legs, but this comes a close second. Her tropical-print sundress is hiked up her thighs as she sits up on his shoulders, the hairs on her shins down-soft under his hands. She’s cheering and singing herself raw, and he can just picture the flushed effervescence on her face lighting up her pretty eyes. Maryden and the Bards put on a good show, even he has to admit.

Alright—so what if he _is_  having a good time?

It really doesn’t warrant the smug grin his sister flashes his way, a few heads down the audience. “Merrill will be there,” she singsonged while waving her extra ticket at him with an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. It’s not his type of music, not his crowd, not his  _anything_ —not to mention that he had no interest in spending the entire day with his sister and her on-again, off-again bloody edgelord of a boyfriend, especially considering that they are very much “on” these days (in fact, she’s literally  _on_  him right now, the frenzy she calls “dancing” having sent them both tumbling down in the grass.)

Still, Carver snatched the ticket out of her fingers the instant Merrill’s name left her mouth.

Isabela points at his sister making out with Fenris in the middle of the crowd, then back at him and Merrill, and throws her hands up in exasperation. “Kitten,” she purrs between two songs, eyelids shimmering gold in the stage lights, “I’m sure that’s not what Carver had in mind when he pictured you on top of him.”

Merrill twists her body towards her. “What do you mean? How else would I be on top of him?”

“Careful, Merrill,” Carver says with a wince when her beer starts dripping into his hair and down his face.

“Oh! Oh, Carver, I’m so sorry!” The plastic cup somehow flies right out of her hand, while her thighs give a delightful squeeze around his head that bolts right down to his groin despite himself.

Isabela bursts out laughing. “And now I have a  _way_  too clear mental image of Carver enjoying watersports. Thanks, kitten.”

The sky is a blaze of orange, purple and pink; the evening breeze at last clears some of the summer heat. On the screens, ZITHER! is now prancing about the stage under the large letters that spell out his name in lights. His sister must be losing her damn mind somewhere in the crowd; Fenris is probably watching with the same expression of faint distaste as always. Isabela left with a handsome foreigner with blond hair and face tattoos (fitting that she’d seduce her way out after seducing her way in), though not before pulling Carver into a hug and offering to help him locate his balls.

One beer and a swig from the bottle of vodka Isabela snuck inside, and Merrill is clinging to his arm, singing the wrong lyrics to the wrong notes. “I love Marybard and the Dens,” she giggles, her sundress stained with grass, the flowers woven into her hair now hanging limp.

Still hands down the prettiest girl Carver has ever seen, even as she scarfs down a double cheeseburger and fries, then washes it all down with a Diet Coke.

“I missed something dirty again, right?” Merrill asks as they lie sprawled side by side on a secluded patch of grass. “I always miss the dirty things.”

“Safe bet that anything Isabela says is dirty,” Carver chuckles. “Ask me next time,” he adds, although as he says it he  _really_  hopes she won’t ask about watersports.

“You’re so nice,” she blurts out, rolling over on her side to look at him. “You’re nice, and handsome, and you never make fun of me for being so weird and cringey—”

He blinks at that and props himself up on one elbow. “Merrill, what the hell?”

“Sorry, I said something wrong again, didn’t I?” she stammers as she straightens up.

“ _Wait_ ,” Carver says, closing his hand around her thin wrist. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just meant—you’re not  _cringey_. And they’re not making fun of you. They just like to tease you because you blush and get flustered and it’s really cute and—uh.” He could  _swear_  he was going somewhere with this. “Do you want me to tell them to stop?”

A flush rises to her cheeks. She settles back down on the grass next to him, leaning on one arm. “That’s so sweet of you, Carver. I’m alright, though, really. I know they don’t mean anything by it.”

“Alright, then. And for what it’s worth, I don’t even think you’re weird, you know,” he says, returning the smile as he strokes his thumb along the cross-thatched scars on her wrist. “It’s more like—we’re all in the fast lane while you’re taking the scenic route, and yeah, maybe sometimes you have to catch up, but you get to see more things and you have this perspective that’s just so unique and—well,  _you_.” Her eyes seem even bigger than usual as she stares at him, tearing a nervous chuckle out of him. “Maker, this sounded much better in my hea—”

Her lips are suddenly pressed against his, soft and warm, and she rolls on top of him to cup his face with both of her small hands. She tastes like Diet Coke and smells like fresh-cut flowers and grass over the faintest tinge of brine. Carver kisses her back slowly, unclenching his hands from around fistfuls of grass to rest them on her waist.

His heart is beating so loud it might as well be playing through the speakers.

Merrill comes away from the kiss breathless. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has  _ever_  said to me,” she says between their mouths.

He grins up at her, stupidly. The stage lights are just a blur haloing her. “Is it, now? … Then surely that’s worth at least two kisses, right?”

“How do you figure?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

“Um. I just meant—can you kiss me again?”

She grins, then bends down to press her mouth to his again. It’s all the sweeter this time for the giggles she spills between their lips. Then her hands rest splayed on his chest as she sits up straddling him, and he reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She breaks into laughter, blushing all the way up to the tip of her ears. “Oh! Now I get what Isabela meant about me being on top of you!”


End file.
